


all I want is you

by feeltripping



Category: The 100 (TV)
Genre: Bathroom Sex, F/F, Finger Sucking, Oral Sex, Porn with Feelings, Power Bottom Clarke Griffin, Squirting, Strap-Ons, Table Sex, Vaginal Fingering, service top Lexa
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-09-03
Updated: 2016-09-03
Packaged: 2018-08-12 18:14:31
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,518
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7944373
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/feeltripping/pseuds/feeltripping
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>filled request for:</p><p>service top Lexa, Clarke squirting, strap ons.</p>
            </blockquote>





	all I want is you

**Author's Note:**

> i hope you all experience what I experienced when I typed squirting into the ao3 tagging bar and there were no matching results aka I'll see you all in hell

Clarke frowns at her phone screen. “How about this one?” She turns the display to Octavia, who squints. 

“It looks okay? Just pick the one with the best reviews, this is getting weird.”

Clarke taps a few buttons, skimming reviews absently. “This doesn’t even make the list of weird things we’ve done together.”

“It’s kind of weird we’re doing this one in a church.”

Clarke looks up and Jesus on the cross is watching her. “Good point.” She slips her phone into a pocket and drums her fingers on her thighs. “How much longer, you think?”

Octavia checks her watch. “He’ll be done in five minutes. What’s got you so eager to be on your way?”

“Nothing.” Octavia cuts her a look and Clarke sighs. “I’m nervous.”

“You’ve been together eight months, and now you’re nervous?”

Clarke taps her thighs again, her leg jiggling. “I know, I know. What if she doesn’t like it?”

Octavia shrugs. “Then she doesn’t like it. Is kinky sex non-negotiable for you?”

“No,” Clarke says immediately, softening when she thinks about Lexa, her fierceness, her smirk, the way she touches Clarke. “Just her.”

“Gross,” Octavia says, and makes a retching noise. Clarke rolls her eyes. 

“You got engaged in a botanical garden. Lincoln proposed with a ring made of braided rose petals at the one year anniversary of when you met. Down to the minute.”

Octavia makes another retching noise. “I know. It disgusts me too.”

“You’re right,” Clarke says, firm. “If she doesn’t like it, it doesn’t matter, I’ll uh… throw it away.”

Lincoln emerges from a door ahead of them, waving cheerfully. They stand. “Yeah,” Octavia says, just before Lincoln swoops her up in a spinning hug, “I don’t think they let you return things like that.”

++

Clarke has it shipped to Raven’s apartment. Her phone buzzes while she’s at work.

 _Your sin has arrived._ Raven attaches a photo of herself, waggled eyebrows and a big thumbs up.

Clarke’s fingers tremble when she taps out her response. _I’ll be there in four hours._

 

“Good luck,” Raven says cheerfully, after they’ve caught up some, Clarke cooking dinner in her kitchen as a thank you, asking Raven about her latest project over a beer. 

Clarke kisses her cheek, buoyant and grateful, and Raven waves as she leaves. “Happy humping!”

++

Lexa’s asleep when she gets home, a casefile open under her snoring cheek. Clarke pokes her up and Lexa smiles to see her, even fumbled with sleep. She yawns, her jaw cracking. “What’s that?”

Clarke hides the package behind her back. “Nothing.”

Lexa’s squinted eyes narrow. “Liar.” 

Clarke twists to avoid her searching hands. “It’s a surprise. Don’t ruin it.” She shoves it in her side of the dresser and closes the drawer firmly. “I’ll know if you peek.”

Lexa grumbles good naturedly, and casts a curious look at the dresser, so Clarke grabs her around the waist and drags her to bed. “Set the alarm,” Lexa gasps, as Clarke nips her way down her neck and across her chest. “Can’t be late.”

Clarke flails a hand out and smacks at the clock until it beeps twice. “Okay?”

“Yes,” Lexa says, and flips them to be on top, grinning.

++

Clarke waits almost a week, her heart beating too quick when she sees the edge of the package as she gets dressed in the mornings. She wakes up one morning on her back, with Lexa sitting on her hips. “Hey,” she croaks, still half asleep. 

Lexa kisses her, once. “Good morning,” she says, far too awake for Clarke’s sensibilities. “Do you know what day it is?”

Clarke squints at the bedside table. “I know what time it is,” she says, faux-sweet. “Did you know it would be your last day on earth today?”

“Don’t be a grump.”

“It is,” Clarke says, shoving Lexa off her and rolling over to smash her face back into her pillow, “five in the morning. You’re lucky I love you.”

Lexa’s teeth graze her ear. “I am. I know it.” She pulls the sheets down and Clarke groans as the cold hits her bare legs. 

“Lexa,” she complains, flailing a hand out blindly for the covers. “It’s our day off. Days off are for sleeping.”

Lexa licks the back of her thigh. “Sleep, then.” She bites the swell of Clarke’s ass, through her underwear, and Clarke groans again, her legs parting despite herself.

“You’re being distracting.”

“Am I?” Lexa’s voice is all sex, rough and fake innocent. She bites again, harder. “My deepest apologies.” She hooks her fingers in Clarke’s underwear and Clarke raises her hips, letting them slide away. Lexa’s teeth sink into her skin and Clarke shivers again, less from the cold this time.

“I don’t believe you,” Clarke mumbles into the pillow. “Where was this attitude after that fundraiser?”

Lexa’s lips press against the small of her back in a pout. “You’re never going to let me live that down, are you?”

Clarke looks over her shoulder. “You fell asleep while I was going down on you. I’m never letting you live it down. I’m going to mention it in the wedding vows.”

“Hm,” Lexa hums, urging her hips up and digging her hands firmly into Clarke’s inner thighs, spreading her wide. “I’ll just have to try and make it up to you.”

Clarke sucks in a breath at the first teasing swipe of Lexa’s tongue. “Fuck.”

“That’s what I like to hear,” Lexa whispers against her center, pressed close and intimate. “Have I told you that I love your cunt?”

Clarke tries to squeeze her legs together, Lexa’s firm grip preventing it, and moans. “You know what you swearing does to me.”

Lexa licks her again, sloppy, suckling obscenely. “Love your cunt. Love fucking you.” She slips in a long finger, crooking and pressing in hard. Clarke makes a sound, sharp, when she withdraws, watching Clarke’s body cling to her finger. “Love your noises.” She makes a buzzing sound against Clarke’s clit and Clarke arches, writhing.

“Stop teasing,” she gasps.

“Of course,” Lexa murmurs, pausing to suck a mark into Clarke’s inner thigh, high near the juncture of her hip. She lifts Clarke up onto her knees and Clarke can feel the flex of her forearms, her wrists. She licks into Clarke from behind, her jaw working, fingers massaging. She makes soft, hungry noises, eager growls, rumbling out from her chest and punching into Clarke.

 

Clarke comes embarrassingly fast, her hands clawing at the mattress. She collapses and gasps for air. Lexa crawls up her back and kisses her shoulder, damp from sweat. “Okay,” Clarke pants, “I forgive you for waking me up. Worth it.”

Lexa purrs against the back of her neck, satisfied. “Happy anniversary.”

++

Clarke waits until Lexa has fallen asleep, after breakfast in bed, feeding each other by hand and chasing fruit with kisses and letting crumbs spill everywhere. Lexa yawns like a kitten until Clarke tucks her against the mattress and urges her to take a nap. She slips off the bed, careful, quiet, and rummages in the hall closet, muttering, until she finds what she’s looking for. 

She lets Lexa sleep for fifteen minutes, sketching absently, before setting her book and charcoal aside and uncapping her paints. She tugs the sheet down to just above the swell of Lexa’s ass, sitting low on her hips, and runs her hands over the expanse of Lexa’s back. Lexa stirs under her fingers, murmuring, and Clarke shushes her. She paints something abstract, greens and browns and dark, dark yellow, up Lexa’s spine, twining about her tattoos, holds the brush between her teeth to smudge color across Lexa’s shoulderblades.

“You’ll ruin the sheets,” Lexa says, her eyes cracked open. 

“Don’t move.” Clarke blows a stream of air across her messy work, pleased, and sets the brush aside. “It has to dry.”

“Should I be worried about toxicity?”

“Maybe.” Lexa rolls her hips, teasing, and Clarke grabs her sides. “You know I would never.”

“Mm,” Lexa says, stretching a little. “How long?”

“Five more minutes.” Clarke presses carefully along her muscles, gentle but firm, and by the time she thinks it’s all dry Lexa is boneless under her, mumbling into the pillow and pushing back against her hands. “Okay,” Clarke says, sliding off her. She extends a hand and Lexa takes it, letting Clarke lead her into the bathroom. 

“Shower sex will never work,” she says mildly. “We’ve talked about this.”

Clarke sighs, heavy, stripping her clothes off and tossing them into the corner. “Stop stomping on my dreams. C’mere.” Lexa steps close, pleased, and they kiss, easy and familiar. Clarke turns them, slow, until Lexa’s back leans against the counter. Clarke meets her own eyes in the mirror and smiles. 

Lexa is watching her, amused. “Hedonist.”

“Your fault.” Clarke kisses Lexa’s throat, watching the shivers roll up Lexa’s back in the mirror. “For being so hot. Can’t help it, I’m powerless against you.”

Lexa flushes faintly pink; still, after all the times they’ve kissed and all the minutes they’ve spent talking and the hours Clarke has mapped Lexa’s body with her fingers, her tongue, her skin; still Lexa looks disbelieving when Clarke whispers how beautiful she is, how strong, how brave. “Flatterer,” is all she says, almost demure. Clarke kneels before her and nuzzles at the inside of her knee. 

“I love you,” she says, and watches it roll across Lexa’s face as her eyes close and her legs part; acceptance, wonder, reciprocation. Clarke loves her tongue in Lexa, the taste, the textures, the way she breathes Clarke’s name on a shudder, her hands in Clarke’s hair. Lexa bucks her hips and Clarke urges Lexa’s hands until Lexa’s holding her still to grind against her chin, her cheek, her jaw, sloppy and gasping, until she cries out, once, sharp, clenching hard. Clarke keeps going until Lexa tugs her up for a kiss. “You taste good,” Clarke hums, and Lexa rubs a knuckle over her panties. 

“Let me,” she says, soft. “You want my mouth?”

“All I want is you.” She steps closer, kissing harder, and finds Lexa’s fingers, guides them to where she wants them. She watches Lexa’s back flex while she fucks her, ripple under the colors Clarke painted, leaning her forehead on Lexa’s shoulder while she gasps and moans and shudders. Her knees give out and Lexa catches her, sliding them both down into a puddle on the cold tile.

++

Lexa draws a bath and settles against the back of the tub. Clarke sighs when she slips into the steaming water, candles burning on the windowsill, and lets Lexa draw her back until she’s sitting between Lexa’s legs, her knees poking out of the water, her back against Lexa’s chest. Lexa massages her scalp until she goes boneless, suds sliding down the back of her neck, and they sit, breathing quietly and nuzzling, until the water gets cold. 

Clarke flips the plug out of the drain with her foot and cranks the shower on. She peels the paint off Lexa’s skin with her nails and the loofah while Lexa makes shivery pleased noises and they wrap themselves in big fluffy towels before toddling out to the couch to nap, Lexa flopped on Clarke’s chest and snoring softly.

++

Lexa pays the delivery kid and Clarke takes the parcel from her dresser drawer, hiding it under the couch. They have dinner at the table, Lexa in one of Clarke’s paint stained t-shirts and Clarke in a hoodie she stole from Bellamy in college, and they split a bottle of wine on the couch, curled around each other and giggling, spilling on the floor, the cushions, each other. “I bought something,” Clarke says, the wine humming in her blood in the best way; warming, daring. “I’m nervous.”

“The mysterious package,” Lexa says seriously, then snorts when she giggles. It’s so adorable Clarke has to pause to kiss her before retrieving what’s under the couch. She presents it and Lexa takes it from her, brow furrowed. She looks at it a long time, then at Clarke, then back at the dildo and harness. Her expression flinches, and Clarke grabs her before she can retreat, pulling Lexa on top of her. 

“Stop it,” she says firmly. “You know that’s not why. We could throw this away right now and our sex would still be the hottest around.”

“I have never,” Lexa starts, hesitant.

“It’s not about that. It’s just… if you want. If _we_ want.”

Lexa rubs a thumb over the head of the toy. “You want to…?”

Clarke bites her lip. “Actually, I thought you might.”

Lexa breath catches. “Oh?” Her voice comes out slightly strangled. She stands, quick, and it takes them both a minute, to figure it out, but soon she has it strapped around her hips, snug. She looks down at herself, slightly bemused. “Is this what all the fuss is about?”

Clarke flicks it to watch it jiggle. “It looks better on you than half the dudes I’ve been with.” She goes to her knees. “Can I blow you?”

Lexa looks down at her, reaching out a hand to wrap Clarke’s blonde hair around her fingers. “I can’t feel it, you know.” Clarke takes the toy into her mouth, drawing it into her throat, letting her lips stretch, spit shiny. 

She pulls away. “No interest?”

Lexa’s hands sink into her scalp, and she holds her still as she tilts her hips forward. “Maybe I spoke too soon,” she murmurs, hoarse. She fucks Clarke’s face, slow and steady and careful, and Clarke relaxes her throat, taking it. 

She closes her teeth around the toy, and gives a soft tug. “I need you in me,” she says, and Lexa’s eyes go darker. She pulls Clarke to her feet, eager, and kisses her, hot and filthy. Clarke links their fingers and goes to make for the bedroom.

“No,” Lexa says, low. She pushes Clarke until she bumps against the dining table, knocking the wine glasses on their sides. She steps close and frowns--the height’s not quite right. “Turn around.”

“Fuck,” Clarke says, bracing her hips against the edge, facing away. “Wait--” Clarke yanks the hoodie off and leans over, bracing her elbows and forearms flat against the table. “Okay, yeah.”

Lexa’s fingers trace up the inside of her leg. “You’re so wet,” she says, and Clarke shivers. Lexa fingers dip in her, teasing, and then disappear. “For me?” Lexa asks, and Clarke hears her sucking on her fingers. 

“Fuck,” she chokes out, impossibly turned on.

“Now even wetter,” Lexa murmurs. She uses her foot to knock Clarke’s stance wider, and when Clarke lifts her hips up she hears Lexa’s breath catch. Lexa braces a hand against the small of her back. “Okay?” she asks.

“Yeah.” Lexa enters her, torturously slow, and Clarke doesn’t exhale until she bottoms out, their hips bumping. “Oh,” Clarke says, her breath rushing out. She sucks in a lungful of air, and then another. “Oh, fuck me.”

Lexa shakes in a small laugh. “I am.”

Clarke opens her mouth, for something sassy about Lexa’s attitude, but Lexa thrusts forward, minutely, and the words fall away. She gasps instead, her head falling forward. “More,” she begs, “harder.” Lexa draws back, inch by inch, then slams in. “Yeah,” Clarke says, her legs shaking, “c’mon Lex--”

Lexa fucks her, fast and controlled, her hand keeping her flat against the table, the glasses rolling off and shattering against the floor. “Jesus,” Lexa says, wrenched from her chest, “Clarke--”

“My hair,” Clarke rasps, her forehead pressed against her hands as she rocks back into Lexa’s rhythm. “Le--Lexa, please--” Lexa grabs a handful and yanks and Clarke clenches, going on her tip toes. Lexa stops, suddenly, her hips still and her hand gone, and Clarke moans, her nails scrabbling at the wood. “No--”

“Quiet,” Lexa says, breathless, and Clarke feels fabric swoop against her skin, tickling. Lexa’s taken off her shirt, Clarke realizes, and when she bends low, bearing Clarke’s torso flat against the table, it’s skin to skin, her breasts brushing then pressing on Clarke’s back. Lexa starts moving again, grinding circles and sharp snaps of her hips, too varied for Clarke to predict, and she moans again, helpless. 

“Lexa,” she pants against the table, drool escaping before she can suck it back. 

“You feel amazing,” Lexa growls in her ear. “I didn’t think--” Lexa stops for a soft noise, low and rumbly, and Clarke clenches again.

“Close,” she manages to choke out, and Lexa picks up the pace even as she sneaks a hand around to press against Clarke’s clit, firm and unrelenting. 

“I didn’t think it would feel this good,” Lexa pants. “I think I could come from just this. Just you.”

There’s pressure building inside Clarke, unfamiliar and inevitable. “Uh,” is all she manages, just a grunt. The table legs scrape against the floor. “Uh, fuck. Fu-fuck,” she leans her head back and to the side, and Lexa kisses her, almost missing her mouth, jolting her farther forward. 

“I want to feel you come,” Lexa is saying into her shoulder, rushed and rough. “I love you.” She bites the back of Clarke’s neck, hard, and Clarke feels it again, the full rush of wetness, waiting to overflow, the pressure unbearable.

“Wait--” Clarke panics, abrupt, trying to pull away, “stop--” Lexa stills immediately, her hands resting on Clarke’s hips, but Clarke’s already coming. She feels it gush out of her, flooding; she can hear it hit the floor with a splash. She collapses onto the table, twitching violently.

Lexa rubs her sides, hesitant. “Clarke?”

“Sorry,” Clarke gasps when she can talk again, still shuddering, “sorry sorry, oh my god, fuck--did I just pee on you?”

There’s a pause. “No,” Lexa says, gentle. “Did--did you think you did?”

Clarke flushes so hot and bright she can feel it, her cheeks on fire. “Shit. That’s never happened before.”

Lexa shivers. “Hot,” she assures her. She hesitates, “You okay?”

Clarke shudders, her body still jolting. “Yeah. It was--it was really good. Fuck.”

“Good.” Lexa pulls out, careful even as she moves quick, pulling Clarke up and around and propping her to sit up on the table. She kneels and licks up Clarke’s legs, slurping up to her cunt and licking inside. 

“I cannot believe,” Clarke pants, one hand on the back of Lexa’s head to keep her close and the other leaned behind her, “that I ever thought you were vanilla.” Her whole body locks up for a second and she rocks, moaning. “You’re so fucking dirty,” she says, faintly strangled.

“Made you squirt,” Lexa hums, smugly self-satisfied. She gives a final lick, broad and long, and stands again. “Nobody else has ever--”

“Okay,” Clarke says, pushing two fingers into Lexa’s mouth. “Back in me before your head gets too big.” She hooks her legs around Lexa and pulls her in, guiding Lexa in even as Lexa sucks at her fingers, teeth grazing. “You can--” Lexa surges forward and Clarke gasps. “You can come from this?”

Lexa leans her forehead on Clarke’s shoulders, her thrusts sloppy and jerky. “Yeah,” she breathes. “Clarke.”

Clarke locks her legs together and leans back, bracing her hands on the table over her head and shoving herself back onto Lexa’s thrusts. “C’mon,” she says, and Lexa half-collapses onto her, hips pistoning erratically. “You made me come so hard,” she says softly, slipping her fingers back in Lexa’s mouth. “Made me feel so good.” Lexa groans, shaking. “Good girl,” Clarke says, and when Lexa’s entire body shudders up, her hips going faster, Clarke tries: “ _my_ good girl.”

“Fuck,” Lexa sobs. She strains her head back, her palms slapping against the table as she fumbles for more leverage. 

“Come for me,” Clarke says, “please, baby? For me?”

“Almost,” Lexa mutters, “almost--” she sounds high, breathy and wobbly. 

“Come,” Clarke says, putting an order into it, and Lexa’s body draws up tight for a few long seconds before she goes suddenly relaxed, tucking herself against Clarke’s body and riding out her orgasm in little shivers, tiny mewls. Clarke pets her hair, nuzzles her cheek, before shifting with a slight wince.

“Sorry,” Lexa mutters. She hauls herself upright and pauses. “Okay?”

“Yeah,” Clarke says, and shudders when Lexa pulls out with a wet noise. Lexa’s fingers are fumbly on the harness and Clarke sits up to help her. “Clean up tomorrow,” Clarke says, helping steady Lexa as she steps out of the pile of straps. Lexa sways, and they lean on each other as they stumble down the hall. “Fuck,” Clarke sighs as she collapses facedown into her pillow. “Bedtime.”

“Paint,” Lexa grumbles, but she must be too tired to do anything else about it, because she crawls up next to Clarke and slings an arm across her waist. 

Clarke pats her on the ass. “Talk tomorrow?” Lexa grunts, agreeing, and Clarke opens her eyes enough to kiss her once, sated. “Happy anniversary.”

“Made you squirt,” Lexa mumbles, smashed into Clarke’s shoulder. “No more fundraiser teasing.”

“We’ll fucking see about that,” Clarke says, and passes out, Lexa breathing warm against her neck.

**Author's Note:**

> this may be as toppy as I'm capable of writing Lexa, even though I've read great fic where she's a top and loved it.
> 
> catch me on tumblr @ feeltripping, I take prompts.


End file.
